Make Me a Picture of the Sun

Make me a picture of the sun –
So I can hang it in my room.
And make believe I’m getting warm
When others call it “Day”!

Draw me a Robin – on a stem –
So I am hearing him, I’ll dream,
And when the Orchards stop their tune –
Put my pretense – away –

Say if it’s really – warm at noon –
Whether it’s Buttercups – that “skim” –
Or Butterflies – that “bloom”?
Then – skip – the frost – upon the lea –
And skip the Russet – on the tree –
Let’s play those – never come!

Addendum

What I forgot to tell you in that last poem
if you were paying attention at all
was that I really did love her at the time.
The maritime light in the final lines
might have seemed contrived…
And the same could be said
for the many imaginary moons
I said were circling our bed as we slept,
the cosmos enclosed by the walls of the room.
But the truth is we loved
to take long walks on the windy shore,
not the shore between the sea of her
and the symbolic land of me,
but the real shore of empty shells,
the sun rising, the water running up and back.